Walking slowly in the dark, I passed under a tree where a hobo was lying on the wet grass. He had covered himself with a ripped red sweater, way too small to warm his dark body. He was completely motionless except for his skinny fingers that tapped to the rhythm of the music. The beat of bongos came from far away, probably from the very center of the circle. I walked on, hearing the rhythm even more crystal in mind as if the earth itself pulsated with energy. Soon I saw the three little men who started the beat, their dark hands beating strongly against the leader of the bongo drums. The lights blurred together and the music connected everybody in a great frenzy. People ran across the circle from all directions, yet nobody could help but tap secretly at the beat or smile shyly at the three dark men playing their hearts out to the world. The intensity of the rhythm was miraculous and soon everything seemed to form a beautiful whirlpool of drums beating, people tapping, light shadows dancing with the rhythm of life. Even the water flowed over the fountain in waves of fluorescent light, as a white veil which purified its inhabitants. The shapes that the water took on were so kinetic that they seemed to lift the whole place in a bubble of air, and let it soar high in the cold sky. I turned around to wonder at the mystery when I met the eyes of an old white haired lady. She sat motionlessly on the wooden benches, her dark green coat slanted graciously towards the side. Her hands gripped nervously two huge plastic bags that seemed to contain all her belongings. There was something noble in her wide dark eyes. They stared dreamily at the circus of young people seeking the beat of their lives. She nodded slowly at the rhythm of the music, but her mind was entangled in her own thoughts. Her deep eyes were drowning in the memories that she knew were all she had left. She was the stranger, the eternal mother, basic, ancient, beautiful, forever young, with her sad cruel smile of love. Her slanted body mirrored the white statues, engraved in the fountain, perhaps she was one of them, a concrete sculpture, a glass doll with a soul wandering around in time.